


Boy of the Court

by IronBoom



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:19:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7504540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronBoom/pseuds/IronBoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary : D'artagnan was orphan as a child and was abandoned in Paris by his uncle to perish in the streets. Instead, he grew and thrived and made his own fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Porthos Du Vallon

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter wasn't completed when I first posted it. I had work in five minutes and I wanted to see the response I received no matter if the work was finished. I have updated this chapter completely and will make no more changes. I hope you all enjoy it.

Boy of the Court  
Chapter one: Porthos Du Vallon  
Porthos yelled out in joy as he ran across the rooftops of Paris in the early morning. He had worked for this day for a long time, having finally earned his Musketeer commission from the king yesterday. Today was his first day as a true and proper Musketeer. He had enjoyed waking before the dawn so as to make it to the garrison in time for muster. Before today he always had to wait until after muster to show himself.

 

He had been working to become a Musketeers for almost two years now, doing everything he could to prove himself. He had made new friends, a new life, among his fellow soldiers, and he wasn’t ever going to leave them now that he was a part of them. Two specific Musketeers he was already on his way in considering as brothers, Aramis and Athos, who were the best of friends one could ask for, despite, or because of, their very large differences.

Aramis had quickly gained a reputation as a romantic ladies man who so happened to be the best shot in the entire garrison and was well on his way to being an efficient and effective medic in the field. It was rumored that he had been on his way to becoming a priest before arriving to become a Musketeer, due to his tendency to quote scripture, usually in latin, and kissing the cross around his neck.

Athos was much more complicated than the carefree Aramis. In contrast, he rarely talked without first being engaged or being required to do so. He never smiled or laughed, but his eyebrows and expressions sometimes said all that there needed to be said. He was easily the best swordsman in Paris, and perhaps in all of France itself, and readily, if not a little testily, gave tips when he noticed something that could get someone killed if not corrected. But the few things he had in common with both Aramis and Porthos was his loyalty to his friends and to the king and country.

Porthos was suppose to meet his two friends before muster to make plans for the day, if they had no missions that they were ordered to fulfill. He carefully made his way down from the rooftops when he got close to the garrison and continued to walk. He had remained vigilant as he climbed down, experience having long ago taught him that it was far harder to get down than it was having to climb up in the first place. As he walked he spied movement in the shadows of the alleyway and when he looked closer he could make out the small form of a child and he grinned. There was only one child he knew that would know how to find him and where to wait to see him before he entered the garrison. “Come to say goodbye?” The shadow shifted before a small boy stepped out into the sun. He was small, thin as a rail, dirt covering his tan skin and dark brown hair with shining brown eyes peering up at Porthos.

“Don’ go,” whispered the boy as he ducked down his head in embarrassment. 

 

“Oh, D’art… Ah hav’ to. Ah’m not fit for tha’ life, Ah was born to be a Musketeer. Ah’ll still see ya ‘round, so don’ worry runt.” Porthos knelt before the boy, ruffling his hair gently as he spoke. He pulled D’art into a gentle hug before letting him go and gently pushing him back into the shadows before walking away.

“Stay safe.” By the time Pothos had looked back at the boy he was long gone and a single thought ran through his head, ‘ Ah’m supposed to be saying that to you kid.’

 

Porthos clenched his jaw to hold back a groan as he dismounted from his horse. Athos and Aramis were doing their best to not act as if they weren’t hovering around him, waiting for him to collapse, but Porthos felt smothered by the waves of concern that came off of them. He supposed that he couldn’t really complain, he’d been lucky that he wasn’t hurt more than he had been. If the bullet had been even one inch to the right he would most likely be dead right now, so he would do his best to let his friends care for him, it was simply their way of reassuring themselves that he was alive. Keeping that in mind, he reluctantly let his friends hold his weight for a moment but hastily stood straight when he saw D’art peering at him from the shadows under the garrison stairs.

“Oy, get over here, what ya doin’ in here? How’d ya even get in without anyone seein’?” Athos and Aramis both looked to where Porthos was speaking only to stare in disbelief as a previously unnoticed young boy slowly sidled out of the shadows to stand in front of them.

“You’re hurt.” His voice was soft and rough, as if he rarely used it and whispered when he did. D’art looked up through the fringe of his hair to stare unblinkingly at Porthos and for the first time ever, Porthos didn’t know what the boy was feeling or thinking, his usually expressive face and eyes were like a stone wall. “Who?”

“To dead for ya to be goin’ after,” Porthos had a feeling that if the man had still been alive after hurting him that he would soon be visited by a small shadow before dying and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On one hand he was proud that he was considered important enough for the runt to consider killing for but on the other he didn’t want to be the reason the kid became a murderer. He was torn out of his staring contest by an inquisitive noise from Aramis and a raised eyebrow from Athos.

“Ah, D’art, these are my friends-”

“Athos and Aramis.” he was cut off by D’art stating their names and they all stared for a moment before Porthos chuckled and muttered under his breath about his overprotective shadow. He quickly introduced his friends to the boy and watched them carefully for any negative reactions when he insinuated that the boy was part of his slightly shady past. Thankfully it seemed as though he worried for nothing, Athos merely stared intensely at the boy before asking for him to take their horses to the stable before meeting them in the infirmary. Aramis simply sent D’art a small smile, more of a quirk of the lips if he was honest.  
To Porthos’ surprise, D’art actually nodded before silently leading the horses into the stables, looking back only once as they slowly made their way to the infirmary.

“Sooo…” Aramis drawled, hoping that Porthos would volunteer information instead of having to slowly tease it out of the man. For all of his jolly disposition, when Porthos wanted to keep a secret he was better at it than Athos, the resident functional mute.

“Found him on the streets a few years ago and took him under my wing. He doesn’t trust easy, only talks to those who he does. I ask that if you see him on the streets or in trouble that you help, he’s like a little brother to me.”

“Of course. We’ll do what we can to help the boy whenever we can.”

D’art poked his head through the door and gave them a small smile of relief when he was told that Porthos would be fine. He had been worried that his big brother had seriously injured himself and he was about to die, but he mentally scolded himself for his lack of faith in the man.

He slid into the room and took his time in watching the three musketeers interact and he breathed a sigh of relief. Porthos had told him that they knew a little about his past and that they were fine with it. D’art hadn’t believed him. That is, until he watched them all now. They swapped verbal jokes and jabs with a brotherhood like fondness and were playfully gentle in any of their physical interactions.

Though he was coming to believe that they wouldn’t hurt his brother he wouldn’t let down his guard until he was absolutely sure. Athos was the one that he was mainly wary of. The man didn’t say much and most of the time neither did his expression. Sometimes his mouth would quirk in amusement of his eyebrows would convey his thoughts on a comment, but besides those moments he was more rock-like than an actual rock.

 

Lost in thought D’art slipped out the door and through the garrison courtyard, unaware of two sets of eyes that followed him, Captain Treville and Athos himself.


	2. Lifting Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's D'arts eleventh birthday and he spends it with his friends.

Chapter two: Lifting Practice

 

D’art grinned as he spied on his oblivious prey from above. He had decided that he wanted to sharpen his skills on the best of the Musketeers for his birthday, making it game enough that he didn’t feel as if he hadn’t celebrated like he used to with Porthos. Without the big man, D’art was alone in the Court and had to work harder with no one to take him under their wing and protect him.

He made his way down from the low roof into an alley nearby and made his choice of mark. He ran through the market until he was near them and slowed, letting them see him. D’art made sure that he looked shocked to see them, and uncertain before cautiously looking behind him as if for a pursuer. When he turned back he had to hide a grin at the predicted overprotective stances the three had taken.

 

“Oy, D’art, everything alrigh’?” Porthos asked softly as he to looked behind the boy. He was worried that one of these days someone would catch the boy and he would be sent to the chatelet. But it looked like today was not that day when D’art hastily nodded his head and slipped his hands behind his back. “What ya got there?”

 

D’art forced his face into a picture of first panic and then pained resignation before holding out a chunk of bread that he had carefully swiped on his way across the market. He winced at the look of concern that flooded Porthos’ face and trickled onto the other two’s as well. For all that he knew Porthos wouldn’t be mad at his picked purse, he still felt guilty for using his emotions against the man.

 

Part of him was afraid that if he used the others feelings for him against him to often than he might come to believe that it was better if he didn’t have any feelings at all. His thoughts and feelings of guilt were ripped away as Porthos spoke.

 

“Charon and Flea aren’t feeding you?” D’art shook his head softly, hoping not to cause an issue between the three. Athos and Aramis exchanged a look that he couldn’t decipher and he was pulled into a hug with Porthos. As usual, his instincts screamed at him to stab the invader and run, but with a jerk he stopped the instinctual movement and held himself stiff for a moment. He relaxed slowly into the hug, trusting himself not to stab the man and swiftly picked his brothers purse. 

 

He let himself enjoy the hug for a moment longer before firmly pulling back. He gave a gentle smile before he motioned that he should probably go, he had to earn his keep after all.

 

“Thanks for the food,” D’art called back as he turned a corner and stopped. He vaguely heard the Musketeers confusion and the frantic patting of clothes before a loud chuckle flew through the air. Smile turning into a grin he ran back to the court with his earnings.

 

* * *

 

Athos and Aramis, mostly Aramis, didn’t let Porthos forget that a little kid had managed to pocket the man’s purse, grinning as they ribbed the man. They had see several other children try, only to fail and receive a gentle but firm reprimand, and yet the boy that they were all beginning to see as family succeeded. They finished their patrol and it was nearing dusk by the time they returned to the garrison, only to see a familiar figure waiting for them.

 

“D’art, my fine lad with the quick fingers, whatever are we to do, seeing you twice in one day.” Aramis called out, not really expecting a response. The had know the boy for a year now and yet he hadn’t talked to anyone other than Porthos. Despite this, every Musketeer also knew of the lad and would let him into the garrison when he wanted, giving him an unreciprocated greeting every time they saw him.

 

Imaging the surprise written on each man face when the heard the rarely used voice of D’art responding for the first time to someone other than Porthos. “Run.” Was all the lad said and after a beat of shocked silence the courtyard erupted into various expressions of amusement. Chuckles, laughs, and one particular raised eyebrow.

 

D’art gave a cheeky grin and nodded at Aramis before brushing past him to head into the stables, his fingers nimbly relieving Aramis of his purse as he did so. Once inside the stable he hid behind the horses, ignoring a stable boy as he did so and peeked back out into the courtyard. 

 

Porthos and Athos were patting a stunned Aramis on the back in congratulation, both with grins as wide as could be. Though D’art noticed that Athos looked forlorn and sad as well as happy for his friend, and D’art decided that he could trust a man who would put his own desire to be trusted to the side when another received it first. While they were all busy he slipped out of the stable and skirted the edge of the courtyard until he could escape through the entrance.

 

* * *

 

Later that night D’art visited the garrison to find the three inseparable Musketeers only to discover that they had gone out to a pub to celebrate. As he moved to leave he was intercepted by Captain Treville who asked that he tell them that they were to attend a hunt on the morrow and not to be late or hungover. D’art nodded as he smiled, he was sure the pointed comment about hangovers was for Athos alone.

 

He left the garrison in search for the ‘Grey Gull’ pub that the three Musketeers frequented. He found it a short time later and quietly entered the pub, looking around for his three friends. Porthos was easy to find, in the middle of a loud game of cards, which he was winning. Aramis was flirting with a barmaid who was giggling like crazy. Athos was in a corner drinking wine, alone but with a drunk eye on his two brothers.

 

Deciding to prove his trust in Athos, pick his pocket and deliver the Captain's message all at once, he made his way to the corner. He stopped in front of Athos and waited for the man to register who it was that was standing in front of him through the blur of wine.

 

“D’art? Wha… “ Athos looked the kid up and down in search of any hint as to why he was standing in front of him expectantly. He drunkenly thought that he should order the boy to leave, both himself and the pub, but soon discarded the thought. What happened next left the man gaping and sure that he was finally drunk enough to be hallucinating, though why he was hallucinating D’art he wasn’t to sure.

 

“Captain says you have a hunt tomorrow. So no tardiness or hangovers… Which means I should take you home.”

 

Athos was pulled out of his seat by an insistent D’art who paused by both Aramis and Porthos as they left to give them the same message. He was gently led out of the pub and through the streets. They were in front of his apartments before Athos could think clearly enough to wonder how the boy knew where he lived.

 

“I followed you.” Athos blinked at the boy, who had just answered his question and wondered if he had asked it outloud. “Yes, you did.” He grinned down at the boy and ruffled his hair as he was led through the building to his rooms, somehow knowing that he didn’t want to know how the boy had gotten through the locked front door.

 

D’art had picked both the room key and the purse by this time. He had known from the first moment that he had seen the man that he would catch even the world’s best pickpocket when sober. Tonight he had been lucky that the man was as drunk as a skunk by the time he had arrived, it made the pickpocketing much easier.

 

He forced the man down onto his pitiful bed before removing his boots and tunic and pushing him to lie down. Athos passed out within moments and D’art contemplated simply leaving the man but decided to stay just in case. He had seen men who fell asleep after getting drunk and choking on their regurgitations before and had no desire to leave and later find out that had befallen the man before him.

  
The night was long but D’art stayed awake, passing the time in practicing his reading, which was still in basic form, and tending to Athos by cooling his head with a wet cloth and smoothing his hair like he vaguely remember his mother doing for him. The next morning all that was left of his presence was a bucket of fresh water by the bed and a hangover tonic that he had learned from an old man in the Court to make for the man for a few coins whenever he had them.


	3. Apologies

Hey, everyone. I'm sorry that I've neglected to update. I had a horrible case of writer's block and a lot of stressful things happened to me. Thankfully, I've managed to come out of everything stronger and I'll be working on all of my works, some may be completely rewritten and others may simply get edited. Either way, I will be posting more and I hope you like it all. If any of you have an idea that you want me to incorporate, into a story, message me and I'll let you know if I decide to add it. Thank you all for your patience and support.


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